


Moving Mountains

by pennysparkle



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Comeplay, Cunnilingus, Enemies to Lovers, Humiliation, M/M, Trans Character, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:26:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5488712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennysparkle/pseuds/pennysparkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was ashamed. To think he’d made a fanpage entitled ‘Mettaton’s #1 Hater’ on UnderNet and set his occupation as ‘President of the Official Mettaton Hate Club,’ had spent entire evenings online bating his fans, but when it came down to it, he still beat off to the guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving Mountains

**Author's Note:**

> [strategossmut](http://strategossmut.tumblr.com) and I have dragged each other deep into Mettapants hell and we've been unable to stop talking about this, so...

There weren't really all that many things in the grand scheme of Burgerpants' life that were as infuriating as being spoken down to by a talking rectangle. There were things that were _sadder_ , more pitiful, definitely things that were more comically absurd—but by and large, nothing came close to how worked-up this could get him in such a tiny span of time. The second he thought of Mettaton telling him what a _dreadful_ job he was doing, or of how many times a day he slapped burgers straight out of Burgerpants' hands, called them 'unfit for monster consumption,' and proceeded to roll over them with his annoying little wheel, _that_ was the second his hands started shaking and he managed to spill glitter all in his fur, because of _course_ he would only start thinking about it when he was about to put the toppings on a Starfait.

Actually, there was a kind of tier-based system to it. Being spoken down to by Mettaton, that was the top tier—it could have him furious and steaming in a matter of a second. Then being yelled at by him; this took up to a minute to really grab hold of the angry part of him, seeing as it often had a shock effect as well, making him cower at first before he became indignant. Then, maybe, being the target of his passive-aggression, which was a long, slow burn... but that could also have been tied with all the times he posed seductively on the counter for customers and got in the way of Burgerpants doing his job (no matter how half-assedly he did it in the first place), which took an equal amount of time to develop.

(Really, who knew a _box_ could pose seductively? Or was that Burgerpants' mind playing tricks on him? _Was_ it seductive? Was it just him _thinking_ it was seductive because Mettaton _wanted_ him to think that? Was it him playing his weird mind games? In truth, it probably didn't have that much significance, but it got him worked up to the point of dwelling on it for hours, which, in the end, had probably been Mettaton's goal all along.)

The point was that, in Burgerpants' experience, anger tended to be an emotion evoked and dominated almost entirely by Mettaton. Before that, he had never had issues with suddenly flinging glitter in his own face from sheer, blinding rage. What was sad was that there were even rankings to _that_ , and glitter was only one of the more mid-ranged anger reactions. His absolute worst moment to date had been when Mettaton had made an entire line of monsters listen to ' _Songs About How Burgerpants, My Most Terrible and Lazy Employee, is the Worst at His Job and Will Never be Loved by Anyone_ ' all the way through before they could order from him. And they'd let it happen, laughed at him when he fumbled with the cash register and dropped his lit cigarette onto his own paw, singing the fur and burning him.

 _That_ time he'd gone home and promptly printed out several copies of Mettaton's cover picture on UnderNet, taped them up, and thrown darts at them for the whole evening. Of course, he forgot to put them on corkboard, so there were hundreds of tiny little holes in his wall now, which he'd have to pay for later. But it had been kind of worth it; at the very least, he felt somewhat better. Not good enough to fall asleep without spending an hour contemplating how much he hated Mettaton, but _better_.

Only now there was a new dilemma, because lately, Burgerpants wasn't being yelled at and spoken down to by a box. Instead, Mettaton had some fancy new Sexbot 9000 form, complete with a delicately crafted, perfectly featured face, smoothly sculpted waist widening into hips curved just right, and beneath that, thighs thick enough that he doubted even Asgore could fit his hands around them. He had a nice ass, too, or at least he seemed to the few times that Burgerpants had managed to catch a glimpse (often sacrificing flesh to the great fryer gods for a precious second to whip his head around and look at it). In a way, it was kind of like those human books said the blinding light of the sun was—look too long, and you were bound to face the consequences. In this case, the consequences would probably be Mettaton's heel in his eye, but regardless, the effect would be the same: blindness, soul-crushing despair, a constant pleading with himself to never be such an idiot again.

The dilemma wasn't being yelled at. His life had consistently been filled with that for long enough that he was at least mostly accustomed to it. The _true_ dilemma was that it was from somebody exceedingly attractive, somebody Burgerpants had spent so many thousands of hours of his life hating. And it wasn't that he was torn on the matter; he still came up with elaborate plots in his mind about how he could prove he was better than Mettaton. But a much smaller amount of time was allocated to that so that he could introduce a _new_ evening routine, this one centered more around thinking about how hot Mettaton was.

He was ashamed. To think he'd made a fanpage entitled ' _Mettaton's #1 Hater_ ' on UnderNet and set his occupation as ' _President of the Official Mettaton Hate Club_ ,' had spent entire evenings online bating his fans, but when it came down to it, he still beat off to the guy. It was just hard _not_ to when he started thinking about the pleasant slope of Mettaton's hips into his ass and plush thighs. The simple mental image of it was enough to send a shiver through his body, his cock getting hard from his mind's pitiful attempts at recreating Pornaton, and wasn't it bad enough that he'd started having to stand right against the counter at work to hide any less-than-appropriate reactions during the day? Why did the root cause have to be the one person he'd ever hated this much?

And it wasn't like he'd come into this whole situation _wanting_ to hate him. At this point, Mettaton was mostly to blame for Burgerpants' constant, stewing anger. Burgerpants had been young and innocent to the cruelties of the world when they met, only seventeen years old and more than a little starstruck, when a position at the MTT-Brand Burger Emporium had opened up. Maybe it wasn't the most glamorous start, but the prospects had definitely excited him. He'd daydreamed about Mettaton taking him under his wing when he saw how good at his job he was, giving him a small role in a film or TV show that was usually dominated by Mettaton himself. Over time, they'd become co-stars that never made a production without each other, and aside from that, the best of friends.

So maybe he'd been a little eager on the first few days of the job, and entirely too naive and optimistic. Maybe he'd thought he'd be moving on to bigger and better things in no time at all. The point was that it was disappointing and painful to be talked down to by someone he'd used to respect, to be so blatantly disregarded at all times.

Needless to say, Mettaton hadn't taken him under his wing. He hadn't even treated him like someone worthy of a second glance, and it hurt. Maybe the anger made it easier to cover up. It certainly made it easier to keep from looking forward to Mettaton's presence.

But, like clockwork, he showed up each and every Friday to sit in his office for a little while and do who only _knew_ what (probably plotting how to embarrass Burgerpants next), after which he'd pester Burgerpants and yell at him for a little while before disappearing again. It wasn't his favorite day of the week, but then again, which really was?

"I expect you to deal with everything, darling," Mettaton said darkly as he swept into MTT Burger at 10AM sharp, same as always. "I don't want _any_ interruptions whatsoever. One peep and I think I'll have to fire you!"

It was an empty threat, which was almost unfortunate. Burgerpants didn't know just how Mettaton managed to remain unaware of how much he would _love_ to be fired at all times—was it the strained smile he gave that made it seem like he had any kind of attachment to this job? Or perhaps the way he managed not to fling a glamburger across the counter every time a customer started yelling at him? In that case, he might have to start acting out a little more often.

"Yes sir," he said placidly, however. For one thing, he didn't think he wanted to die just yet today, so it was probably the right choice to let Mettaton go on thinking that his threats were actually meaningful.

He dealt with the morning customers slowly, ringing them up and wearing a hole in the floor as he moved back and forth between the register and prep station. It was a good thing MTT Burger was never actually that busy; for the most part, any illusion of a bustling restaurant was provided by Mettaton's loitering fans, most of whom didn't actually have the kind of cash required to buy his glitzy food. Or maybe they just realized it sucked. It might have had the face of their idol on it, but it certainly wasn't winning any awards (except for those made up by, who else? Mettaton) in the taste department, and Burgerpants knew this for a fact.

By noon, Mettaton hadn't yet emerged. That was odd enough; he liked to maximize his time spent terrorizing Burgerpants, and usually, he'd have already begun the practice long ago. But there was silence. Burgerpants was starting to get a little bit worried, strangely. After all, Mettaton might have been a jerk, but he still signed the paychecks.

Then again, it could have been a test... Burgerpants really wouldn't have put it past him. All that fuss about not bothering him, but then disappearing? That was a classic Mettaton move. In fact, Burgerpants would have been surprised if he wasn't being filmed right now for some kind of documentary about self-control and his own lack thereof. Nervously, he glanced around, squinting into every corner, trying to suss out any new cameras. But the only ones around were the ones that had always been present upon the ceiling, taking in his every movement day in and day out. No doubt he looked kind of ridiculous right now, squinting around suspiciously. Mettaton was probably sitting up in his office laughing about it.

Burgerpants cleared his throat, preemptively flushed from embarrassment, and faced forward again. For lunchtime, it was awfully empty in here, but that was always something he appreciated, especially when he was anticipating Mettaton's next move. Maybe he'd actually manage to get a lunch break of his own today. Or maybe it would come and go as he nervously tried to decide whether he could pull it off.

One in the afternoon arrived while he was fidgeting, and Mettaton was still cooped up. Despite himself, Burgerpants was scared, wondering what huge, horrible scheme he was plotting that was taking this long to pull off.

Or maybe... _maybe_ Mettaton was dead, and knowing his luck, Burgerpants would be framed for it. Despite all the cameras watching him, cameras he'd only just confirmed were still there, he was going to be framed for Mettaton's murder, because that was just how it went. He'd lived a miserable, unexciting life, and now he was going to go to jail, because there was no doubt in his mind that his horrible, jerk of a boss was back there right now, lying dead on the ground with Burgerpants' name written in blood by his fingers—

He forced himself out of those thoughts with a harsh, choking exhale. This was as clear a sign as any that his curiosity and paranoia were getting too overwhelming to ignore, and too intense besides. Nervously, he closed down the register, halfway expecting Mettaton to get up from his grave, pop out, and yell at him for it. But when that didn't happen, he made a paper sign reading ' _back in a few_ ' in a messy scrawl to tape on the register, and crept down the hallway to the back office.

The door was shut. There were no sounds from within, nor any kind of signal that would indicate Mettaton was about to swoop down upon him. Burgerpants swallowed hard, claws squeezing into his paw pads as he clenched them into fists. He hesitated for nearly an entire minute as one fist hovered over the wood, scared to knock, knowing he would be getting in trouble for this.

But he did so anyway, and a loud sigh came from within, which was at least a sign that Mettaton was still alive. Hopefully. It could be _anyone_ in there, he realized.

"Come in," Mettaton said, sounding like the definition of foreboding, positively evil.

Burgerpants was already sweating, not sure if he was relieved or not that it was Mettaton's voice that came through the door. His hand slipped on the knob twice before he managed to get it open, only to be confronted with Mettaton sitting behind his desk and grimacing at him, chin resting on one hand while the other was mysteriously absent.

"What is it?" he asked crisply.

"I was just, uh... checking..." Burgerpants said, though he lost his momentum quickly and went silent instead. It'd be weird to say he was checking on Mettaton because he'd been quiet for so long, wouldn't it?

"Well, you've checked. Now stop dripping all over my floor and get out!" Mettaton snapped. He was even more impatient than usual; how strange that he wasn't savoring the chance to belittle Burgerpants for something.

At any rate, he nodded quickly and went for the door again, although with his paws sweaty and slipping on the knob, he wasn't having the best time. Four tries and he sighed in defeat, prematurely embarrassed about how much Mettaton was going to tease him for this. "I can't get it open," he whispered.

"What? Can't you do _anything_ by yourself, darling?" Mettaton asked, equal parts exasperated and irritated. "I can't help you with everything!"

Burgerpants was starting to sweat harder. It was dripping down the back of his neck through his fur, and he fidgeted as he tried the knob again, but once more it was too slippery, and only getting moreso as he touched it. "I-it won't budge..." he muttered despairingly.

"Well I'm _busy_ right now!"

He certainly didn't _look_ that way... but if Burgerpants were to say so, there was no doubt in his mind that Mettaton would yell at him. And at the same time, he was stuck here. There weren't very many things that he could logically do, were there? He could climb out the window, but that'd be even more embarrassing than not being able to use a doorknob. Still, it seemed a better plan than staying in here for the rest of the afternoon at Mettaton's mercy. With a sudden burst of courage, he stepped forward, aiming toward the window behind the desk, only for Mettaton to catch him with a glare.

"And where do you think you're going?" he asked, one sharp brow raised at him in that all-too-withering expression.

"I... climbing out the window?" Burgerpants practically whispered.

Mettaton's brow raised even higher, which shouldn't have been possible. At any rate, it made Burgerpants wilt in the span of a second. He really _was_ trapped in here with Mettaton. If only he could wipe the sweat off with something, but no doubt he'd be yelled at for sullying his uniform, which was technically Mettaton's property, not his.

They were at a stalemate. Burgerpants could either beg Mettaton for mercy, which wasn't sounding like a particularly appealing prospect, or he could perhaps try and shoulder the door down. The outcome of that was either death from Mettaton, death from hitting the door, or failure. None of them seemed acceptable.

"Why don't you come here, darling? Do me a favor, and perhaps I'll do you one too," Mettaton suggested after what felt like an eternity of Burgerpants shuffling awkwardly in place, tapping his fingers impatiently on the surface of his desk. It was big and imposing, entirely out of place here, but also entirely expected for someone like Mettaton.

Burgerpants swallowed hard but circled around it, only to stop dead in his tracks immediately after. He could feel himself gawking, eyes wide and mouth dropped fully open, because the reason Mettaton's hand had been absent earlier was due to it currently being buried between his thighs, leggings pushed down around his knees. Burgerpants inhaled deeply, exhaled, choked a little bit. No wonder this whole situation was so absurd—he was clearly dreaming right now, maybe passed out at the counter and drooling embarrassingly? There was really, _seriously_ no way this was actually happening.

His mouth felt parched as he continued to stare. It was difficult to really see exactly what it was that Mettaton was up to, aside from the occasional shift of his wrist, but his thighs got in the way of any kind of decent view. He could imagine, though, and he was starting to wonder how much sweatier he could get before the primary composition of his body ceased to be water.

"Well? Stop staring!" Mettaton snapped.

What was he supposed to do? He knew what he _wanted_ to do—maybe push Mettaton's thighs open and regard him with as much pompousness as Mettaton always viewed him with. Bravely, he stepped forward, dropping a hand to his leg in preparation to do so, but Mettaton swiftly slapped at him until he withdrew it. Why had he thought he'd get away with something like that...?

"I didn't say you could touch yet. You have to understand what this is first; just so you know, I'd never stoop as low as someone like _you_ if I had the choice, but it's not that easy to get an audience with the king on such short notice, so you're going to have to do for now."

The king...? What did he have to do with any of this? Burgerpants' brows furrowed, and his eyes went unfocused as he tried to figure it out, but his mind was all cloudy, and his head was starting to hurt.

"So don't get any ideas about you being _special_ or anything, got it? You're just convenient," Mettaton finished, scooting forward and finally spreading his legs apart. Between were soft pink folds, already drenched with matching wetness, and Mettaton's fingertips were slowly circling his clit, causing his thighs to twitch ever so slightly.

It wasn't like Burgerpants _wanted_ to admit to watching a lot of porn. If he had his way, he'd absolutely have been dating people instead of doing that. But if it had given him anything, it was the knowledge of what a nice pussy looked like, and Mettaton's was _definitely_ nice. All soft and kind of... _cute_. He couldn't tear his eyes off of it.

"Are you going to stop staring and do me a favor or not?" Mettaton asked impatiently, yanking Burgerpants forward abruptly.

He realized how hard he was in his pants just from getting to see this. It didn't help much when he was suddenly nudged up right next to Mettaton's body, superficially warm and humming softly if he listened hard enough. He felt surprisingly plush, sort of squishy beneath Burgerpants' paws, and he watched eagerly as Mettaton started to unbutton and unzip his pants, pulling his cock free of his underwear.

And now it was Mettaton's turn to stare. It didn't take long for Burgerpants to start feeling self-conscious, looking down at himself too. Sure, it wasn't the longest, but it was pretty thick... That was okay, wasn't it? His mind was starting to race already, only then Mettaton took his cock in hand, giving it a few tight strokes that made him shiver all over, his eyes squinted shut a little in pleasure.

"I'm not asking very much of you, you know? All I want is to come, and it'd be _quite_ helpful if you'd just fuck me for a little while. I promise it won't be any hardship for you! You'll never get anyone as good as me, so you should really be _grateful_."

Burgerpants' throat felt bone dry by this point. He was going to get to do this? He was _really_ going to get to do this? Even if he was still pretty sure it was a dream, it was the best string of words he'd ever heard from Mettaton's mouth, not least of all because he imagined it must have struck a huge blow to his pride to even seek out someone like Burgerpants.

"Y-yeah... I can do that," he said, choking a little as Mettaton's gloved thumb rubbed little teasing circles over his cock. Had he ever been this hard before? If he had, he couldn't remember it. It made him kind of lightheaded.

But then Mettaton's hand dropped away, and he tugged one thigh up to spread himself open, giving Burgerpants an impatient, irritable look. "Hurry up, then!"

Burgerpants scrambled forward, holding onto the back of Mettaton's thigh even though he really didn't need to. But this was it. A new frontier. He was teetering on an edge from which he might never return; the hopeless thought entered his mind that he might be even more embarrassingly obsessed with Mettaton after this, but that was a problem for Future Burgerpants, who hopefully could get his shit together enough to: A) find a job where his boss appreciated him and paid him more than a pittance, B) find somebody to spend his thoughts on that actually _deserved_ it, and C) maybe stop jacking off so much in a worrying clash of the aforementioned subjects.

A grimace on his face and his breath held, he looked down at his sweaty paw holding his dick, and at Mettaton's slick pussy just inches away. This was it. After he pushed inside, he wouldn't be a virgin anymore, and he swallowed hard as he did so, very slowly and carefully. It was stunning almost immediately—how wet and tight Mettaton was, how hot it was inside of him. Burgerpants kind of wanted to sink down and start purring, but that seemed like a bad idea in front of Mettaton.

"Come _on_ , darling, we haven't got all day!" Mettaton gritted out. His pussy was twitching a little, and it almost felt like his body was trying to draw Burgerpants further in, which he didn't mind the idea of a single bit except for the fact that he was sure he would come in five seconds flat if he allowed it.

He forced himself to maintain his pace as he kept pushing in, so slow and grimacing all the way. It was almost painful to hold back; he was no good at it at all, but what choice did he have? It was this or embarrass himself so badly that he could never look Mettaton in the eye again.

"You're making ugly faces," Mettaton said boredly. He was leaning back now, fingers idly playing with his heart and the pink goo that threaded between the tips each time he pulled them away.

Burgerpants narrowed his eyes. As if he could _help_ that he was making ugly faces. That was just how he _was_. It annoyed him though, enough that he remembered suddenly just how much he hated Mettaton, even if he was offering up his perfect body. He shoved in deep, giving Mettaton every inch he had, which was enough to make his own face pinch like he'd swallowed something sour. If those first few seconds of being inside Mettaton had felt overwhelming, it was _nothing_ compared to this—like melting, a little bit. He felt kind of faint.

But it was so nice. Already he couldn't stop himself from pulling out and thrusting back in, uncoordinated and hasty but _desperate_. He wanted more of that feeling, which didn't really surprise him, but it _did_ embarrass him. Wasn't it bad enough to lose his virginity in the back office of MTT Burger while being spoken down to by Mettaton? Apparently not enough that his anger overrode the need to push his cock into Mettaton's pussy, which he was starting to think was way too perfect to actually be real. He was suspicious that it might have been crafted specifically to entice him.

"It's gorgeous, right?" Mettaton asked. He was going to taunt Burgerpants, as always—it was easy to tell from the look on his face as he dropped his free hand between his thighs, beginning to rub his fingertips over his clit again. "Maybe if you're really good, you'll get to see it again! But I wouldn't count on it."

Burgerpants grit his teeth. He was so _smug_ , so self-assured, and sure, he had a right to be. With this level of expertly-crafted attractiveness, who wouldn't be? But that didn't stop it from being any less annoying. To think, there'd been a time when Mettaton had seemed benevolent and kind, but the truth of this was that he was self-involved, overly critical, and kind of an enormous asshole. Just because he was hot didn't change any of that.

But hell if the tightening of Mettaton's pussy didn't try and sway him from his hatred. He could feel a tingle building in his spine, a tense pressure in the pit of his stomach that had him doubling over a little. It wasn't likely he'd make it more than a few seconds before he came; he'd never been good at holding back, especially not with something so new and amazing as the feeling of this.

He wheezed as he spilled inside of Mettaton's pussy so quickly and intensely that his head spun a little bit, gripping Mettaton's thigh for balance. Through his squinted-shut eyes, he could see the look of sheer rage on his pretty face, and he knew he'd probably be found murdered in a dumpster before the day was over, which would be overlooked because _everyone_ would forgive Mettaton of murdering someone like him, someone who couldn't even last four minutes in bed, and he'd die alone, but at least he wouldn't die a virgin. He _wouldn't_. It was hard to believe it, but he'd really just lost his virginity to _Mettaton_ , had come inside Mettaton's pussy, his last few thrusts pushing some of it out with a squelching sound, and he watched with gaping mouth and wide eyes. This was his new reality.

"Darling," Mettaton started, his voice aflame with aforementioned murderous intent. "Get that _filthy_ thing out of me. How much more disappointing can you get before you reach rock bottom!"

Burgerpants withdrew hastily, panting a little at the way Mettaton's pussy tightened up, trying to keep him inside. It felt much better when his oversensitive cock wasn't being squeezed by that oppressive heat, but he did kind of miss it already. All the same, he started to tuck himself back in his pants, disgruntled at Mettaton's pink wetness all over him. That was going to be messy... but he was too mortified to be in the same room as Mettaton anymore, and he hurriedly started to stand. Maybe if he was lucky, he could get one good frustrated, hate-filled cry in at the register before any customers showed up.

"Now wait just a minute there!" Mettaton said, his tone condescending as ever. "You think I'll let you come inside and that's the end of it? Oh no, darling." His voice dropped to a murmur, and he leaned up, his hand curling abruptly and _tightly_ around the back of Burgerpants' neck. It almost made him go limp, his eyes hazy as he looked down at him. "You've got to clean up the mess you made."

"I-I... I'm sorry, boss." The apology wouldn't make a difference in the end, he knew, and he dropped to his knees and made sure to look as pitiful as possible; not like Mettaton would care.

And he didn't. He pushed Burgerpants forward, made sure he was level with his pussy, which was filled entirely with Burgerpants' come. It was dripping out a little onto the leather of his chair, pastel pink combined with his wetness, and with a little guidance and heavy hinting in the form of Mettaton tugging in a surprisingly non-painful manner at his ears, he found that he didn't really have a problem flicking his tongue out to catch some of it. It was still warm when he lapped it up and swallowed it down almost hungrily, which he found humiliating, even though he'd done it himself. But wasn't it bad enough that he'd set aside his own hatred to fuck Mettaton, and now he was between his legs licking his come out of his pussy, too?

... Still, in the end, this was too much of a dream come true—it was hard to believe Mettaton wanted this from him, and it wasn't as though it was truly ideal, but Burgerpants would take it. Nobody else seemed interested, so why not? It wasn't so bad to be desired, even for something like this. Wasn't so bad either to humiliate Mettaton for having sunk so low as him.

Needless to say, he'd never eaten anyone out before, but he pushed his tongue between Mettaton's folds, licking up his come with a bit of a sour look on his face. The reality was that it wasn't all that pleasant at first, but the longer he did it, the less he disliked it, at least. Actually, it was kind of nice to be the one making Mettaton spread his thighs further apart, making him pant and sigh, his eyes fluttering and his lips parting.

"Oh, darling... just like that," he murmured, hooking his heels over Burgerpants' shoulders and digging them painfully hard into his back. "You might come quicker than I can snap my fingers, but at least your tongue feels _lovely_."

Burgerpants wasn't sure how complimented he felt by that—probably not at all. Still, he was doing something right, because Mettaton was pushing his pussy against Burgerpants' mouth as his fingers eagerly rubbed against his heart, getting goo everywhere. The logistics of that were unclear to him, but it was kind of cute to watch Mettaton's heart pulsing underneath his fingers, to see how it made Mettaton stiffen up when Burgerpants lapped over his clit in rhythm with his fingers.

He shuddered and fell back after a few moments, letting his fingers drop away from his heart to rub Burgerpants' ears instead, which struck him as kind of rude. Through squinted eyes, he looked up at him, irritated for more than just the fact that Mettaton was rubbing them between his fingertips, getting goo all over them and making them twitch sensitively. He was irritated with himself too, because it made his eyes go all droopy, a pleasant tingle running through him. Truthfully, it could have gotten him hard again given enough time, and the movements of his tongue were slowing, more languid, a little bit sloppy. It had him worried that he wouldn't be able to bring Mettaton off like this, but it was a distant thought as he dragged his tongue over Mettaton's clit. Maybe it would have served him right.

"You're almost there, darling," Mettaton sighed after a little while, continuing to pet Burgerpants' head as he rubbed his pussy up against his mouth. His fingers had moved to cup his heart delicately again, spread over the pink expanse and circling downward with little pulsing movements, like he'd been touching his cunt. But the movements were slow, a little lazy, like he was wrapped up in this too, and that made Burgerpants feel smug. Whatever else he was a failure at, at least he was eating Mettaton out until he looked all hazy-eyed and flushed. It didn't stop his jaw from feeling sore and heavy, but he doubted anything would.

He just felt lucky when Mettaton finally gripped the back of his head a little harder (fingertips squeezing his fur instead of his ears, thankfully) and pushed him down against his pussy, digging his heels in harder. This had to be him right at the edge, and it made Burgerpants wince, finding it hard to breathe with that sharp sting in his back and his face buried against Mettaton's pussy, but he lapped at his clit harder and sucked on it in turns, flicking his tongue in little circles around it and reaching up to squeeze at Mettaton's heart at the same time.

That caused him to jump in shock underneath Burgerpants, for his eyes to go wide far above, and he came suddenly. His whole body went stiff, trembling, his thighs shuddering around Burgerpants' head, and pink warmth flooded his tongue finally, some dripping down the back of Mettaton's thighs when it couldn't fill his mouth instead.

After several long seconds, Mettaton slumped, his limbs shaky, his hand cupped over his mouth... Had he tried to stifle himself? Burgerpants frowned, supposing it made sense. All things considered, Mettaton still wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him hear what a good job he'd done. That was almost disappointing.

Now that it was over, Mettaton seemed quick to snap out of it, and pushed Burgerpants away by the shoulder as he remained in his daze. He fell back, sprawled half over the floor, head spinning, which gave Mettaton time to stand and tug his clothing back into place with a frown, impatient and clearly unhappy with the idea of being in the same room with him any longer than he had to.

"I'll give you a C for effort. You'll have to do better next time, darling. Maybe work on that stamina, hmm?" he said dismissively, brushing his hair into place before heading for the door.

Only when it shut behind Mettaton did Burgerpants finally heave in a breath. It was another area in which he'd ended up proving how mediocre he was—but he still had the chance to try. And for all that he'd disappointed Mettaton throughout the years, he knew today was still another day in the long campaign to prove him wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr!](http://bunansa.tumblr.com)


End file.
